Like Old Times
by gnarled
Summary: It's been 25 years since the last Locust blood was shed. With the war over, Delta squad has retired to helping humanity rebuild. But when the death of an old friend brings them back together, what will they discover about their past, present, and future?
1. Unexpected Delivery

What is this? A Gears story from gnarled that's got a plot centered around something other than Marcus and Anya doing it? _What?_

Yes yes, that is correct. This story has been my brainchild for quite a while, and I rather like some of the ideas I've sprung up in here. _Like Old Times_ happens around 25 years after the events of Jacinto's Remnant, and has no correlation with any of the other stories I've written. This one will probably take me longer to update and is meant to distract my attention while I wait for GOW3, so I'm pretty much going to write it at my leisure. So don't complain. I'll try not to leave cliffhangers.

And please review! I love reviews. :D

So without further ado....

**  
Chapter 1: Unexpected Delivery**

Dom trudged up to the door of the two-story shack, his large feet kicking around the various leaves that lay on the concrete path under his sandals. The house was nice, really-- the modest plants out front were well groomed, the windows were clean, the siding was the best anyone could have salvaged. If anything it was in better shape than when they first arrived here; twenty five years ago, this small settlement nestled in the Dorado Hills was nothing more than a charred heap of skeletal remains-- both human and structural. But now, he thought, as he glanced behind him at the patched asphalt street, children playing a few houses down; now, Odessa was thriving.

The latino smiled to himself as he knocked on the mismatched door made of polished wood, thinking back to the first day they came here. After the COG successfully sank Jacinto and took Vectes as a new home, it was a couple months before they managed to find the Queen and chainsaw her damn head off, which Marcus himself had the pleasure of doing. After that, all the Locust's organization simply fell apart. But there were still plenty of them to kill, so the Chairman decided to have the Gears spread out, stationed at over twenty different settlements across Ephyra to help with the reconstruction and to kill locusts in a localized area. Dom and Marcus got stuck here, in Odessa; named for the body of a massacred and mutilated soldier they found at the entrance to the outpost, the only recognizable thing being the COG tags wrapped around a bloody appendage. But, to say the least, in under a year and a half the Locust were completely wiped out, save for stragglers that wouldn't survive long without the whole, and the war was officially declared over. Given the "all-clear" designation, the two veterans were allowed to retire peacefully, and a few years earlier than normal.

With no response from his first knock, Dom knocked again, more insistent this time, feeling the arthritis in his hand twinge as he did so. During the wars, Dom had never really thought about his age too much because of all the fighting, it just didn't quite matter, and most of the time he was one of the youngest in the squad. But now he thought about it every day, it seemed the years had just flown by; soon it would all be over. He welcomed the thought. After the initial grief of losing Maria, Dom did a little soul searching while they were chasing the Queen, and somehow he found peace in the fact that his family was safe, in a better place than he could have ever provided for them. They traveled with him in his heart, and it was this that gave him the strength to continue on, but even still he longed for the day when he would be able to hold them all in his arms again.

It was a funny thought, realizing that he was the last remaining Santiago... by blood, at least, and because for him, there was only Maria, he had never quite settled down like Baird and Cole had, in nearby Bentin. No, he had taken up transport, much like his father had done during the Pendulum Wars, and enjoyed seeing all the progress that humankind was making as he transported myco vats, livestock, fresh water, and the like. Seeing children come to greet him when he drove into a town was the most rewarding; he loved seeing the excited looks on their faces, and some of them would even follow him to the drop-off center for a hug and a muss of their hair. Helping people, he realized, was what he liked about it the most.

Knowing the house wasn't empty, Dom tried the round metal handle on the door and turned, finding it to be unlocked. He pushed it open and took a few steps inside, breathing in the stale smell of varnish emanating from the salvaged hardwood flooring, glancing around to find the bottom floor was empty, both the television and radio turned off. Maybe a yell would help.

"Yo, Marcus, you here man?"

He heard a muffled "Yeah" trickle down the stairs in front of him, followed by a muted thud. He smiled, Marcus had been doing pull-ups again on a bar he had fastened between a door upstairs. It seemed all the guy did now was exercise; while Dom had taken up a job to keep him busy, Marcus just simply... didn't. Money was never really an issue, the two of them were legends, and could probably live off handouts with hardly any effort, so Marcus took to running and working out, but most of his time was spent on a nearby hill that overlooked the Jacinto sinkhole; just staring out into space, thinking about whatever crossed his mind.

A few more thuds came from the floor above him, the heavy footsteps of a soldier used to his armor, and the culprit finally appeared at the top of the stairs. He was old, Dom realized, every time he got back from a transport it seemed like the guy got older; from his long, silver hair that he hadn't bothered cutting in years and was now braided into a short tail behind his head, to the many, many wrinkles on his lined face, most of which the result of years of worry and unsatisfactory warfare. Even so, he was still Marcus, with his black skullcap and fierce blue eyes, still built like a brick shithouse at the ripe old age of 61. That was more than Dom could say; he'd attached a bit of a spare tire to his six-pack over the years.

"Sorry," Marcus said, looking him in the eyes as he came down the stairs. "Thought you were some snot-nosed kid looking for an autograph."

Dom chuckled. "You get a lot of those don't you?"

"More than you know," The older man replied sarcastically, obviously unpleased at his 'hero' status among the civilian population, especially the children. He leaned on the interior wall of the house, watching the shadows from the morning sun creep across the hardwood floor, dust motes swirling inside the shafts of light as the two of them shifted into a comfortable silence. Outside there were birds chirping, somewhere children were laughing, and Marcus couldn't help but wonder if all the wars had been more than a dream.

"I got your stuff," Dom said quietly, breaking the silence that Marcus seemed to enjoy more often than conversation nowadays. But, at his words, the surly old bastard straightened up, eyebrows raised.

"They let you take it?" He asked, obviously startled at Dom's words. The latino was still somewhat surprised when Marcus showed emotions; age had mellowed him, it seemed, and he was less prone to bottling it up and taking it out through furious blinking, like he used to.

"Hell yeah. I got a whole truckbed full." Dom nodded, and watched as a small, sly smirk grew on Marcus's wrinkled face.

"Come on, you can help me unload it." He motioned for his honorary brother to follow him outside, holding the door open as he did so. Leading the way down the concrete path out to his large flatbed truck that was parallel parked in front of the older man's house, Dom unlocked the rear gate of the bed, flinging it open to reveal the boxes upon boxes of bottles of beer.

"Shit, Dom." was all Marcus said, eyeing the dark blue cardboard boxes filled with 18 bottles each, stacked four high and who-knew-how-many deep, his muscled arms folded in a satisfied pose, stretching the sweaty, white tank top thin across his chest. In the years following the Locust War, beer had been extremely hard to come by in large amounts; the only way to obtain it being an order through the COG, but even then the beer was at least 15 years stale. However, in the past five or so, some crazy bastard named Faust had opened up a brewery on the coast, using the seawater to brew up some of the best shit that anyone had tasted in over a decade. Naturally, Marcus had been on Dom's ass about getting some, but only recently was the younger man able to work out a decent deal.

But what a fucking deal it had been. Dom smiled as he watched the old man inspect the boxes, happy at Marcus's satisfaction. He was so quiet and antisocial as of late that Dom sometimes worried that he would end up like Maria -- the younger man would come over one morning, just like he had today, and find that Marcus just wasn't there. There were a few times during their stay in Odessa when that panic had swept him, only once or twice, but Marcus had turned up shortly following, almost angry at Dom for thinking such a thing. It was foolish, perhaps; Marcus was definitely not the type to run off like that, and he'd made it clear to Dom in his brusque, blunt manner that anything short of death would not keep them apart, they were brothers to the end.

But Dom still worried nonetheless.

"Let's get this shit inside before anyone sees," Marcus grunted, hefting two boxes from the top of the stack, balancing them carefully against his left shoulder as he backed cautiously around the gate of the truck, then venturing back up the concrete path to the house. Dom, still smiling, followed suit, trailing the older man into the house and into the kitchen as they stacked the boxes in a vacant corner next to his refrigerator.

They continued to unload the boxes -- thirty-two in all, two at a time -- working methodically like they would have as soldiers, the idea of efficiency engrained into them from many years of combat. When there were two left in the bed of the truck, Marcus resolved himself to loading the 'fridge, kneeling in front of the tarnished appliance and sliding the dark brown bottles into the bottom shelf while Dom went and retrieved the final two. The man paused for a moment, holding a bottle in his hand and admiring the blue paper label, _Faust's Brew_ written across it in fancy gold letters. There had been a time when something like this was common, when brown bottles such as this would litter the streets around bars and alleyways, when humankind took them for granted. But no, not anymore; now these simple things meant _civilization_, if the town bar had these then that town was on its way to becoming a city. Marcus had never been much of a drinker, and was sure that all this would last him quite a while, but actually having such a bottle in his hand meant that mankind was finally coming back.

_No._ He thought, still gazing at the bottle. _Mankind __was__ back. _

Dom struggled in the door with the last two boxes, his forehead covered thickly with sweat, his breath short and labored. He hadn't done work this physically intensive in quite a while, and he had to admit that he wasn't quite as spry as he used to be. He saw Marcus was still loading bottles as he stumbled over to the corner, placing the final two in the stack, grunting from both the effort of hefting the two boxes and the incredibly painful arthritis in his back as he set them down. Putting his hands on his knees, he stood there for a moment, catching his breath. _Damn_, he thought._ I need to work out._

"So what do I owe you?" Marcus asked, tugging a second box over to his side and cracking it open, eyeing Dom over the top of the refrigerator door.

Dom smiled his big Dom-smile, shaking his head as he straightened up, leaning his back against the mountain of blue cardboard. "Nothin' man. Nothin' except a favor."

Marcus's somewhat relaxed expression quickly hardened into stone, his eyes centering on Dom. From the huge grin on the man's face, Marcus knew he wasn't going to like it.

"What." He growled, obviously displeased.

Dom's face went somber for a moment, looking away from the other man's blank expression.

"Well, latest wire from New Jacinto said that Hoffman died yesterday. His funeral is tomorrow."

Marcus's eyebrows twitched upwards only slightly before giving way to a darker expression, his eyes downcast from his brother's as he resumed occupying himself with stacking the bottles in his 'fridge, not saying a word, only uttering his _hrmph_ of disapproval. Dom knew from his body language that this meant_ 'Ok, new topic'_ and it was always a trigger for Dom not to push an issue. But this was one that deserved to be pushed.

"Come on, Marcus. You owe the old bastard that much. All I'm asking is a ride to New Jacinto, you don't even have to go to the funeral, alright? We could pick up Baird and Cole on the way, make it just like old times..."

Dom trailed off, still with no reply from the gruff man to his right, at a loss for the right words to say that would make him acquiesce. Because he was right, Hoffman did deserve at least that much respect, no matter what had passed between them, and that had been _years_ ago.

And then suddenly, the right words came.

"I heard Anya still lives there."

At that, Marcus paused for a moment, closing his eyes, holding back whatever emotions Dom had just evoked at the use of her name. Their parting of ways had not been pretty, to say the least, and Dom knew it was sort of a low blow to remind him, but he knew deep down Marcus was still in love with the woman, and that would never change.

The latino walked over and snatched the bottle from Marcus's frozen hand, waving it in the man's face before placing it in the 'fridge himself.

"And besides. You owe me."

Marcus kept his eyes closed as he stood up and took a deep breath, kicking the now-empty box aside as he pinched the bridge of his nose, his other hand on his hip.

"...Fine," He grumbled, still displeased, but as far as Dom was concerned, he could suffer. A huge smile broke out on the younger man's face as he punched Marcus playfully in the shoulder.

"Sweet!" He said, obviously excited. "Cole's gonna be pumped. This shit's gonna be awesome."

"Yeah, yeah..." Marcus grunted again, pissed off, slamming the refrigerator door shut and removing himself from the room, rounding the corner to walk back up the stairs. He needed to finish the pull ups that Dom had interrupted earlier, and maybe take out some frustration while he did so.

"I'll be back to pick you up at eleven!" Dom shouted up the stairs after him, and although there was no reply, he knew that Marcus had heard and understood. Shaking his head, the latino man rubbed a hand across his face, relieving his skin of the sweat that settled there as he walked out the door of the house. Closing it as he left, Dom couldn't help but smile himself, barely able to contain his excitement at the day to come.


	2. Road Trip

Posted the 2nd part. Wrote it kind of fast, I'll probably clean it up later, but for now, it will do. Chapter 3 is on the way-- Should be pretty long.

Oh, by the way, fun fact: The name 'Marcus' means 'war-like' in Latin. :D

* * *

**Chapter 2: Road Trip  
**

**Part 1 - Departure**

The junker rumbled loudly around the corner, turning lazily on to the wide street; a mosaic of asphalt that crumbled even more under the enormous weight of the vehicle. It was a far cry from the tank it had been; the day it rolled off the factory line as a full-fledged 'Dill was over a decade before E-Day, and much of the armor plating had been traded in for cash and cheaper, lighter aluminum panels when it had been converted to a Stranded transport during the war, but it would always be the growling hulk of metal that it was built to be. When the humans re-took the mainland it had been repossessed by the COG, and, due to extreme lack of kit, the almost-ancient APC was fully converted into transport use, specifically for heavy duty, long distance hauls.

The compartments once used for storing supplies like food and ammo were stripped out of the back, making for some enormous trunk space-- very useful when transporting a few crates of dried mycoprotein. The cab was modified, too; extending the rear partition out to provide enough room for five fully-grown men to sit comfortably in the once-cramped space, with shock absorbers placed under the cushioned seats for maximum support on an especially long trip. For that, Dom was thankful-- maybe they couldn't do anything about the shitty roads, but having your ass all nice and cushy when you're driving for hours on end was definitely a plus.

As he came to a slow stop in front of Marcus's yard, he saw the man already leaning on the fence, loaded carry-all at his feet, looking impatient. Dom shook his head. Some things would never change.

He pressed a button on the dash, and with a _hiss_ of compressed air, the passenger hatch popped open, sliding upward as Marcus slid himself into the seat, tossing his bag into the rear of the cab. He noticed Marcus had changed his shirt-- a long sleeve tee now, despite the mild weather – and he knew it was to cover up the scars. The man's whole body was coated in them, the most and worst of them coming from his stay in the Slab. It was rare that he wore anything else out in public, even when they were on tours of duty, he never removed anything past his black bodysuit.

_Hiding from the world_, Dom thought.

"You're late." He said, looking evenly at Dom with his normal, blank expression. The older man then glanced around the cab compartment, noticing the difference in style from their days in the service.

"And what the hell is up with this 'Dill?" He said it calmly, but Dom knew better.

The younger man cracked a smile, shaking his head and not saying a word, shifting the junker into gear and starting towards the city gates. Marcus was pissed today. Whether it be the trip they were about to embark on, an anxiousness to see old friends, displeasure at the Colonel's passing (although he would never admit it), or even Dom's comment about Anya earlier, it was obvious something was irritating the guy-- his jaw was clenched and twitching; his eyes boring holes in the patchy road in front of them. And as they exited Odessa's northeast gate, he had his I'm-an-asshole-so-don't-talk-to-me face on.

The cracked asphalt roads of the small town quickly dissipated into nothing more than two faint ruts in the ground, weaving lazily in no specific pattern around the deserted plains that separated the so-called 'established cities' of the COG. Out here, life was few and far between, the horizon stretching for miles around, just a gray, dead landscape, one that had not changed much at all since they first arrived to build civilization anew. But as Dom peered through the dusty windshield of the APC, he thought he could see a few small pigments of green for a moment, poking through the thick gray dust that seemed to cover the planet. It was a thought that, above all else, gave him a small glimmer of hope for this world that had been so deliberately destroyed.

_Hammer Day. _The thought made him glance at the man next to him, wondering if he was thinking the same thing as he gazed out at the barren landscape through the window, much like Dom had been. It was his father, Adam Fenix, who spearheaded the development of the most destructive weapon in the history of Sera, the Hammer of Dawn. And although Professor Fenix did not pull the trigger, Dom knew just as well as Marcus did that the man had quite a hand in the decision being made. The youngest Santiago brother wondered what a curious burden it must be, to have your father destroy ninety percent of the planet. Adam Fenix had been willing to sacrifice the whole world to save only a small part of it.

Dom turned his head back towards the road. For the second time in his life, he thought that, perhaps, Marcus would not have done the same.

"You packed a suit, right?" Dom asked, breaking the now-uneasy silence, save for the occasional bumps and rattles of the 'Dill. "For the funeral?"

Marcus shifted, lifting his head slightly from its resting place on his hand, glancing sidelong at Dom.

"Got my uniform." He mumbled quietly, obviously still lost in some other realm of thought.

Dom let out a small 'yeah', turning his attention back to the vague road. He'd brought his uniform, too; it was the nicest piece of clothing that either of them had obtained over their entire lifetimes, and the death of an old C.O. made them seem all the more appropriate. Dom had to get his let out slightly, and he absentmindedly patted his less-than-fit stomach as he thought about it.

Turning back to Marcus one more time, he decided to give up on striking up a conversation. He wasn't sure if the guy had fallen asleep or not, but his eyes were closed, his head bouncing up and down on his hand as they continued over the nonexistent road. He was either sleeping, or thinking, both of which called for no interruption.

Dom let out a deep sigh; Bentin was still an hour or two away.

This was going to be a long trip.

* * *

**Part 2 - Arrival**

"Baird lives _here_?"

Marcus had his eyebrows raised slightly, in mild surprise. Dom had stopped the junker in front of a mediocre residential home; two stories and made of wood – _new_ wood, not salvaged, like Marcus's was – with a modest porch extending out from the front. But what struck him as most peculiar was how _nice_ everything was. The small yard was cut perfectly flat and the decorative plants trimmed; there were no leaves to be found despite the fall season, and it seemed that the whole house had just received a fresh coat of paint. Needless to say, the house did not exactly scream '_Baird_' to the retired soldier.

"Yeah. Weird shit, huh." Dom replied, throwing the battered 'Dill into park and shutting off the rumbling engine. The vehicle let out a hiss as Marcus exited, shoving his hands in the pockets of his khaki cargo pants as he waited on the fractured sidewalk for Dom.

"We just gonna waltz in?" He asked, seemingly pensive, as his brother rounded the front of the 'Dill.

Dom almost laughed. He'd forgotten how long it had been since Marcus had been anywhere outside of Odessa, and Bentin was a decidedly larger city; those closer to the coast usually were. It was obvious that the distant noise of traffic and horns and people and machinery-- hell, the noise of _civilization--_ was a bit disconcerting to the older man. To him it probably still sounded like gunfire and shouting and death, like a Locust attack somewhere in the distance that he needed to run to and save the day, and it was almost depressing to see him stuck in such a state of limbo; but Dom couldn't stifle his smile, seeing the man standing unevenly on the quaint city sidewalk, leaning like he was ready to rush a grub position.

The latino couldn't help but shake his head as he patted the older man on the shoulder, leading the way to the house. "Relax, man." He said, stepping easily up the low, broad steps of the porch to the door. "It's cool. They're waiting on us anyway."

With that, Dom opened the door, not even bothering to knock and taking a few steps inside. Marcus followed hesitantly, moving aside as Dom shut the door behind them.

"Hello? Anybody home?" He yelled into the foyer, walking slowly into the cozy, adjoining living room. From a hallway around the corner, Marcus heard little feet padding at an extremely rapid rate, running from the depths of the house to meet them. Moments later, a small child, maybe only two or three years old, poked her head around the open doorway to the right, a huge grin spread across her eager face.

"Unca Dom!" She exclaimed, her short, curly brown hair bouncing up and down as she ran toddler-style across the carpeted floor into Dom's waiting arms. Scooping the child up, he held her like fatherly Dom, like Marcus remembered him holding Benedicto and Sylvia. He wondered silently, his eyes studying the child, how Dom could stand it.

"Hey there Abby!" The smile on Dom's face was the biggest that Marcus had ever seen it. Seeing Dom happy like this was a strange thing indeed; in a life filled with hatred and war and death, one could forget how joyous innocent things like children could be. The happiness was infectious, and Marcus felt a small smile curl at the end of his lips.

"Do you know where your grandpa is?" Dom asked the girl, who shook her head from side to side emphatically as a response, eliciting a small chuckle from Dom. He motioned for Marcus, who was still standing near the door, to come closer.

"This is Marcus. Can you say hi to Marcus?"

She looked at Marcus, her big brown eyes wide as the man approached. Dom could only imagine how he must look to a small child like this; a big, scary, scarred-up bastard with eyes that could look straight through you, and for a second the younger man thought she wouldn't say anything at all. But, to his relief, she let out a small 'hi', smiling bashfully and waving. Marcus managed a sneer.

"Aww, are you shy? Are you shy little one?" Dom was pinching her cheeks, and she began to giggle uncontrollably as he began to tickle her, the child's laugher filling the house.

"Staaawp-- Unca- Unca Dom! Staa-awp!" She managed inbetween giggles, using her chubby hands to push his away from her vulnerable tickle spots. He let her do so, not wanting to upset the cute little girl, and she looked at him seriously-- as serious as a small child her age could-- while she deliberately put his hands away from her.

"Momma wants me to help in da kit'chen." She said slowly. Dom let out another soft chuckle.

"Alright," He said, putting her feet firmly back on the carpet, "Go help your momma then."

The youth nodded, and then promptly scampered off from the direction she came, disappearing around the same hallway wall. Marcus took a few more steps closer to Dom, still obviously uncomfortable, but managing to appear that he wasn't. Dom knew, by his set jaw and twitching muscles, that this was definitely way out of his area.

"Baird has kids?" He asked, in his calm, albeit sort-of surprised, gravelly tone.

"Grandkids." Dom corrected, glancing at the older man and shrugging slightly. "It used to be just him here, but now his daughter lives here with her two kids. I guess she and her husband didn't get along too well."

Marcus could guess what Dom meant by that.

"Dom, is that you?" A moment later Baird hobbled into the living room, another child clamped on to his leg like a vice grip. And _damn_, Barid was skinny-- even when they were still in the service, all muscle and sinew, he'd still been just a lanky kid; but now, with all the age, he'd lost most of the muscle mass and was pretty much a beanpole compared to he and Dom. It made Marcus realize why Baird had been such a mouthy bastard all those years... he'd always been the skinny kid, the one who got picked on, the dweeb, so to speak. It was his I'm-smarter-than-you-and-i'm-a-dick-about-it exterior that kept the pestering bullies away. Baird was still Baird, though, complete with grease- and grime-covered hands, shirt, and pants; and the same pair of weathered goggles that seemed to be a permanent fixture on his forehead.

"Hey--" He began to say, but stopped when he spotted Marcus, the surprise on his face evident that the surly asshole had even shown up. His eyes flicked hesitantly from Marcus, to Dom, and back, before he offered a welcome to his former Sergeant.

"Shit, Marcus." He said, leaning forward as much as he could to shake hands with the older man. Marcus met him halfway. "How's it going, man."

"It's goin'." Marcus replied, meeting his gaze evenly. Baird was much more courteous now than he had been in their days as a squad, mostly due to the events the night they killed the queen. Marcus had saved Baird's life, while also adding another scar to his illustrious repotoire, and it was something that the younger man would never forget.

They drew apart, and the leech on Baird's leg gasped.

"Granpa! You said a bad word!" The little boy looked up from the floor at his grandfather, almost a spitting image of the man with short-cropped, sandy blonde hair and the biggest green eyes that a child could possibly have. "You--"

"Yeah yeah I know." Baird rolled his eyes and bent over, stripping the child off of his ankle, and kneeling to face the small boy on his level, his hands on the child's shoulders. "Why don't you go play with your sister, Matt?"

The child glanced up from Baird's face at the big, scary man that was standing in the room next to Unca Dom. He turned back to his grandfather, nodding furiously, and Baird ushered him off out of sight. He stood back up and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Why don't you guys take a seat or something, instead of standing there with poles jammed up your asses." He gestured to the couch behind them, against the wall, as he himself moved towards the lazy chair in the corner, but Dom stopped him.

"Sorry man, we're kinda in a time crunch. Is Cole here?"

"Oh." Baird looked almost put-out, not being able to sit in his chair. "Yeah, Cole's here, probably in the kitchen botherin Becka." He paused, holding up a finger as he turned around and looked down the hallway. Marcus assumed it was in the direction of the kitchen.

"Cole! Get your ass out here!" He yelled, and listened for an answer. None came.

"God damnit..." He huffed under his breath, and stalked down the hallway. Dom and Marcus followed behind him, a grin plastered on Dom's face, ready to observe the hilarity that would ensue.

As they walked down the narrow hallway, Marcus could see the colored backplash tile of a kitchen at the end, watching Baird storm into the room and following Dom inside seconds later. Immediately, aside from the wonderful scent of food, he was hit with a wave of claustrophobia; the kitchen was extremely small, and with the large bodies of himself, Dom, and Cole, not to mention the addition of Baird and a woman who Marcus assumed to be Baird's daughter. The woman was holding Abby, the little girl from earlier, in one arm, while using the other to stir a steaming pot of what Marcus could only identify as a particularly tasty beef stew.

"Damon baby, come on, man, you can't blame me!" Cole was standing over the woman's shoulder, staring lustfully at whatever delicious contents the pot contained. Marcus picked out the little boy, Matt, quivering behind the Cole Train's massive calves-- hell, he was still just _massive_ after all these years, and even though Marcus could see some of that muscle had solidified into fat, he would place a good bet that the Cole Train was still unstoppable.

"Yeah, but we gotta get going! Dom and Marcus are here, so let's go!" Baird may have mellowed with age, but he could still be just a whiney bastard. Cole nodded in acknowledgement to both of his former squadmates, then turned back to Baird, who was glaring at him furiously.

"Aww, fine..." He shot a longing look back at the stew, gave a small 'See ya baby' to Rebecca and Abby, and moved slowly out of the room. Marcus wasn't sure if it was just the heat in the small space or something else, but as he followed Dom out, he spotted a small blush on the young woman's cheeks, past her springy brown curls.

Dom and Marcus both filtered outside to the 'Dill, waiting as Baird and Cole threw their bags in the back of the vehicle. Dom could have guessed the first words out of Baird's mouth when they finally got settled in the cab compartment.

"Where the fuck did you get this 'Dill, man?" He was leaning around the side of Dom's seat, looking up at the upholstered ceiling. "It looks like shit."

"That's what I said," Marcus replied, and Cole just laughed.

"Whatever, assholes." Dom said, smiling, as he shifted the APC into gear. Yes, it was just like old times. And as they exited the eastern gates, Cole was bursting with excitement, as always.

"Woo! Road trip, baby!"

_Always the team player_, Dom thought.


	3. Old Friends, Old Wounds

Re-wrote a lot of this chapter. I wasn't happy with the Jutt character. Now he's less angsty-teen, more normal 20-something. Probably helps that I'm the same way, too. :P Hope you guys like it. :)

(Also, the flashbacks in this story are out of order. The one in this chapter comes a few months after the one in the next chapter. Just keep that in mind.)

* * *

**Chapter 3, Pt 1: Old Friend****s**

The hotel lobby was dark and dank, the practically ancient, maroon-and-tan striped wallpaper slowly peeling off the walls with the passage of time, while a musty, damp smell permeated the bottom floor of this reclaimed high-rise. There were sparsely lit oil lamps scattered around the room, creating a soft glow of light that was a far cry from the brightly lit hotel lobbies of decades past; in fact, the furniture that was placed haphazardly against the walls had collected enough dust and grime to have been here from that particular time. But even still, Dom had said the place was decent, and was also the closest to the new Embry Square, so Marcus had acquiesced. It could have been worse.

Dom waved goodbye to the tenant, whose name was Jenkins, apparently, as the four of them walked out of the lobby doors and on to the sidewalk. They had arrived in New Jacinto over an hour ago, just after sunset, and if Marcus had thought Bentin was big, then this place was fucking _huge_. Jacinto's remnant had moved from the Vectes Naval Base to this location on the coast about 23 years ago, after the main landmass of Sera had been declared fit for human inhabitance. Since then, the city had grown exponentially, and was by far the largest city in the COG; the innermost parts of the city even had adequate plumbing, along with cable and electricity lines running through their homes.

Marcus let out a deep sigh, breathing in the sea-air borne on the light evening breeze. The four of them were traveling the short distance to some bar that Dom had told them about, because after a long trip like that, a cold beer just sounded like a good idea. But even though, Marcus was slightly irked by Dom's knowledge of almost everyone and everything in this town- that meant _here_ was where he spent much of his time away from Odessa, still living his life. It was frustrating, Marcus thought, how the world seemed to move along without him; all this time he had spent doing his own thing was life that he could never get back. He wasn't sure if he regretted it or not.

Still, Dom knew a _lot_ of people here. Hell, he'd even known the tenant at the less-than-decent hotel they were staying in, which made Dom's earlier comment about Anya sort-of curious. Vaguely, and without intention, Marcus wondered if he had seen her since... well, since.

"Marcus, you alright man? You kinda quiet back there." Cole turned around to face the older man, who had trailed slightly behind the rest of them.

He blinked once, and looked up. "Yeah... fine."

"Alright, here we are guys," Dom said, motioning to a building across paved street; one that was devoid of any major cracks or fractures, for once.

The building was old, that was obvious; it looked like it had been an original structure from whatever this place had been before Jacinto, albeit it had been updated since then. The lacquered wood paneling on the bottom floor wasn't all rotted, most of it was new, and Marcus guessed it had most likely been re-faced a few times since the humans had moved back in. There was a second floor, also; with a stuccoed exterior and small windows, implying that it was a home of some kind- perhaps the bar owners lived there. All in all, it looked like one of those good-old-places, with large, pane glass windows surrounding the outer facade, the low lights inside almost inviting one in to relax and chat with some friends. Marcus liked it already.

Dom pushed open the door, leading the way inside for his old comrades, and Marcus saw that the place wasn't just a bar- it was a restaurant, too, complete with about twenty tables that took up the space between the bar on the far wall and the windows. The place was almost empty save for a few lonely patrons scattered around the bar; it was just the early evening anyway, and the crowd would probably arrive sometime around midnight to break out the big parties, after everyone got off shift.

As they sat down at a table near the bar, a young, curvy girl with straight, shoulder length brown hair waltzed by them, carrying a tray full of dirty dishes and glasses meant for the kitchen. Baird couldn't help but let out a low whistle as she passed by, catching her attention.

But, to the rest of their surprise, instead of slapping him, she flashed the older man a wide smile as she walked away.

Cole slapped Baird on the back, guffawing as he took his seat. "Damn, Damon, you playin' up all the ladies, man!"

"Yeah," He said, taking his own seat, still watching the young girl's ass as she walked away. "That's why Sam left me, you know? Couldn't take the competition, that stupid bitch." He said, his voice dripping with resentment. From the look on Baird's face, however, one could guess that Baird wished it had not ended so badly.

Dom smiled his goofy smile. "You sure it wasn't because your skinny ass is ugly?"

Immediately both Cole and Dom bust out in a roar of laughter, and even Marcus managed to crack a smile.

After the laughter died down, Baird spoke again. "Hey, I'm not a saint like you Dom. Holdin on to the same woman after all these years..."

Marcus shifted in his seat, using one hand to smooth over the top of his bandanna. The one thing he did not want to talk about was family, namely wives and children. It didn't bring him to a good place.

Dom's smile shrank, and he glanced down at the table. "Yeah well. Maria was one of a kind." It had been a while since he'd thought about her, and in his younger years he would have hated himself for that, but now he could tell her he was sorry and move on. She deserved to always be in his mind. Subconsciously, he touched his bicep.

"Is that Dominic Santiago I hear?" A voice yelled from one of the back rooms of the bar, muffled slightly by the intervening walls. It was deep and gravelly, but full of energy, and upon hearing it, Dom perked back up.

A large smile exploded across his face as he realized who it was. "Quent, get your ass out here!"

Baird pinched the bridge of his nose. "The fuck Dom, do you know fucking everyone?"

Audible thuds came from the same direction of the voice, it seemed the man had been moving boxes into the building. Seconds later, Quent came around the corner, arms outstretched.

"Ayyy! There he is!" Dom said, standing up and walking around the table to give the man a hug.

Quent was a young man, much younger than the men before him. Maybe in his mid-twenties, the kid looked at Dom smiling wide, his light blue eyes gleaming with mirth, almost like a child would greet his father. It was obvious that he and Dom had known each other for a long time; given his age, it was probable to the other members of Delta that he'd known this kid his entire life. The most obvious thing about the young man, however, were the gleaming cog tags that hung around his neck.

"Hey man, what are you doing in town?" Quent said, brushing few stray strands of his dark, sweaty hair out of his face with a gloved hand.

"I'm not on delivery. We're here for Hoffman." Dom said solemnly, nodding to the guys at the table.

Quent made a low whistle, shaking his head. "That old bastard. My condolences, man."

There was a beat, respecting the fallen General.

Dom broke it shortly, eager to introduce the young man. "Anyway, lemme introduce you to my buddies. This is Marcus, Gus, and Damon." he said, pointing to each of them individually. "I used to roll with these guys in Delta."

Quent paused for a second as he absorbed what Dom had said. His smug expression was slowly washed over with amazement.

"Holy shit, I mean like, holy fucking shit. Seriously?" He put a hand on his head and looked back at Dom, still incredulous at the military heroes before him. Marcus rolled his eyes.

"You guys are legendary!" Quent continued. "You should have told me Dom, I woulda dressed up all nice for ya."

"Aint nothin but a thing baby." Cole said, trying to soothe the situation. "We ain't the fancy type."

The former thrashball star could see the irritation written all over Marcus and Baird's faces. _No offense to Dom_, he thought, _but what the hell is he doing hangin' around with a kid like this?_

The kid took a deep breath, calming himself. "Quentin Stroud," He said, indicating himself, shaking each of their hands. "it's a fuckin' honor to meet you."

_Oh. _Cole understood immediately. He glanced at Marcus, who, in hearing the kid's name, had seized up visibly, at least to his squadmates. His jaw was clenching and unclenching, his hands balled into fists under his crossed arms. The grizzled old man was glaring daggers at Dom, whose face softened apologetically.

The kid, oblivious to the subtext, paused when he shook Marcus' hand.

"And you're Marcus Fenix, right?" He said, taking a seat next to Marcus. "Man, I've read so much about what you guys did. Tell me about how butt-ugly the Locust queen was."

"She wasn't half-bad actually..." Baird said, trailing off. The similarity between the young man and the older one next to him was uncanny. He nudged Cole under the table, but the sports star had already noticed. Marcus was busy retaining his composure, but Dom was looking at the two of them with increasing curiosity as well.

Quent looked up eagerly from the face of the Great War Hero to the rest of them. The other three were looking at him with the strangest expression on their faces. The blonde one with the goggles was almost laughing.

"What?" He said, confused. "Did I do something?"

Dom clapped his hands together, breaking the moment and attempting to avoid the drama. "Hey Quent, maybe we could get some of what we came here for?"

Quent smiled broadly, deciding to let the previous situation go. "Sure Dom, no big deal." He took a deep breath.

"Yo woman, fetch us some inebriates!" He yelled to the back room, and Dom hoped to god that Anya wouldn't come walking out. Yeah it was her bar, but he'd thought she always had things to do at this hour. Granted, he should have thought this out better.

"Get'em yourself you lazy ass!" A girl replied, probably the barmaid from earlier; Sara if Dom recalled correctly. He breathed out slowly, relieved.

"Ahh, fuck." Quent said, "Hold on fellas. I'll be right back." As he got up to fetch the drinks, he patted Marcus on the shoulder.

After the young man vanished into the hallway, Dom sat down in Quent's seat quickly. Cole and Baird leaned in, knowing what was about to go down.

Marcus' voice was low and dangerous, his chilled eyes never breaking contact with those of his brother. "Dom you better tell me what the fuck is going on right now."

Dom was backtracking, trying to avoid the soul-killing lasers that were Marcus' eyes. "Look, maybe this was a bad idea..."

"_Dom_." Marcus said, threatening. _But was it threatening?_ Dom thought there was a hint of pleading behind the anger, a hint of pain behind his stone-cold facade.

"Alright alright." He acquiesced, motioning for him to calm down with his hands. He wished he'd picked a better time to explain this to the older man. "Quent is a good kid. You know I've been running trips this way for a long time and-"

"Hey fellas," Quent said, reappearing from the back.

He had definitely noticed as the four men sat back from each other, eyeing him cautiously, wondering if he heard what they had been talking about. He hadn't, but wasn't an idiot, and knew they weren't just talking about old war jokes. They'd been talking about him. Quent knew there was something going on since he introduced himself to the other three members of Delta, Fenix in particular had been especially gruff. Then of course, from what he read about the sergeant this could have been his normal behavior, but the young man held a strong doubt.

Regardless, he ignored whatever it was, and broke out in a big smile, holding up the glasses.

"Got you some brew."

He placed the glasses on the table, and Baird grabbed one quickly.

"Sweet, sweet alcohol..." He mused, swishing it around under his nose in the mug before taking a huge swig.

"Aww yeah baby." Cole said, taking one of the mugs for himself.

Dom took one as well. "Thanks Quent," Dom said, clapping him on the shoulder with his free hand. The young man smiled and nodded, taking a drink from his own.

"So tell me something guys, if you don't mind me asking," He started, still interested in hearing from some of the COG's greatest heroes. " What was your favorite mission? Like out of every mission you've ever run, what was your favorite one."

"You mean besides killing the queen? Haha, well-"

Marcus tuned Dom out, clutching his beer tightly, still wrestling with his composure. From behind them, someone was stepping softly down the stairs on the other side of the bar. Keys jangled.

Then there was a voice, and the voice was what caught Marcus's ear. Any of them, especially he, would know that voice anywhere. That particular voice had been his lifeline during his years as a soldier, both on and off duty; his mind was so programmed in to the exact pitch and patterns that even he did not fully recollect what it meant when he heard it.

"Hey Quent, you need anything from the store?"

Anya. It was _Anya_.

Immediately upon this realization Marcus froze, his head snapping in the direction of the voice; the stairway that lead to the second floor of the building. The world stopped when he saw her, the earth ceased to move when his pained eyes met her big brown ones; that same, short-cropped platinum hair falling in strands in front of her face. He didn't feel the filled glass crack and shatter under his grip; he had no knowledge of the sudden silence that came over the rest of his squadmates. He didn't hear Dom cussing under his breath behind him. All he saw was her, and although the knife she'd placed in his chest so long ago seemed to be tearing itself a new hole, he could not look away.

He may not have even been breathing.

* * *

**Chapter 3, Pt 2: Old Wounds**

_He couldn't breathe as the realization hit, crushing his chest like an aluminum can in a vacuum._

_"So you're getting married." He said quietly, not looking at her, but leaning out across the balcony of her apartment in the newly constructed New Jacinto. As always, she found his lack of passion disturbing. He was absolutely and completely stoic save for the slight twitch in his jaw, just leaning on the railing with that same flat expression, the garish scar tearing down his otherwise expressionless façade. The black leather jacket she'd 'procured' for him months before flapped in the light evening breeze, his hands were clasped in front of him calmly, fingers not even fiddling with the ends of his sleeves; she could even smell his aftershave and carbolic soap mixed with a light dash of cologne as the salty sea-air carried it across her face._

_This night was not supposed to turn out this way._

_She'd invited him over for a nice drink, hoped maybe they could spend some quality time together before he got shipped off to god-knows-where to help rebuild whatever municipalities the COG had seemed fit. In all honesty, he wasn't even supposed to find out that she was planning to marry Major Preece, but word had slip through the ranks. She knew that many of the enlisted thought she was a hot piece of ass, and that unfortunately included the Major himself - he was probably bragging all about town right now that she had agreed; which, she hadn't really. If she had a choice, she would be marrying the man standing in front of her; and the seventeen-plus years they'd spent playing this game wouldn't have been for nothing. In a way she wanted Marcus to throw something; break some things so she could justify not being with him, so he would have some sort of violent tendencies other than the mutilated locust bodies he'd left in his wake. Then she would feel safe with the Major, she would feel like she was doing her duty to the COG by settling down and finally obeying the breeding laws that she'd somehow managed to avoid for so long. She had even heard that there were rumors circulating about the troops that she was sterile. If only the doctors would have believed the same._

_"Yes," she finally breathed, forcing herself to look away from him, out over the balcony as well. The sounds of civilization drifted up to meet her ears on the humid night air, horns and loud laughter and just plain noise, and she couldn't help but despair at the fact that she found this rebirth of society nowhere near satisfying. With the victory of the COG, the correct social order was being reestablished, and she was losing the one thing she loved the most._

_Still, his silence was unnerving._

_"Look, Marcus, this doesn't mean anything has to change," She started hesitantly, unable to stand his lack of response or keep her own thoughts in her head. "I'll still be here, we can still be—"_

_"No." He said with all sorts of finality, waving her off and removing himself from the balcony, back into the depths of her apartment. She fought to keep the tears from her eyes until she heard the door slam shut behind him. Slowly but surely, the dry sobs wracked themselves from her delicate frame as the drowning pain she felt without him enveloped her, letting her body slide down into the corner of the concrete wall._

_He couldn't possibly understand her reasons for doing this. He didn't know about her constant exhaustion. He didn't know about her morning sickness, her late (and now nonexistent) periods, her weight gain. He didn't know about the living thing she had growing inside her, and there was no way she could tell him because he would know everything right away. She was afraid he would do something about it, and get himself or both of them thrown in prison, and so to make it legitimate she had to marry someone, and soon. Preece had just been in the wrong place at the right time, and nailed her with the blackmail._

_"It's for the best," She told herself after her sobs died down, still hugging her knees and knowing that Marcus wasn't coming back this time._

_The lie she told was hollow, and offered her no comfort, but she would continue until she believed it._

_"It's for the best."_


	4. The Thought That Counts

Rewritten finally. It reads much better now. :) Enjoy and review!

-Meggie

* * *

**Chapter 4: The Thought That Counts**

"Fuck this shit." He said, and stood up, shaking the glass out of his hand and heading for the door.

"Marcus!" Dom yelled, leaping up from his chair to grab the old man, but Marcus kept walking, shrugging on his old leather jacket and stiff-arming the door to the bar with much more force than necessary.

"Marcus, wait!" Dom yelled again, struggling around tables and chairs to follow his older brother out the door, yet the surly old bastard seemed to be walking at light speed. By the time he got out the door, the former sergeant was already down to the next block, most likely getting ready to turn the corner. Dom booked it up to catch him.

"Marcus!" Dom huffed as he slowed to match Marcus's brisk walk, the short run taking his breath. "Marcus I—"

"We were here for a fucking funeral." He'd stopped walking, and was standing with his hands in his pockets, half-turned towards Dom but with his eyes fixed on the wall.

Silence passed between them, save for Dom's labored breaths.

"A _funeral_, Dom." Marcus started again, and by the gruff sound, Dom guessed it was through clenched teeth. Marcus was pissed, there was no doubt about it; out of the corner of his eye, he could see the outline of a clenched fist in his pocket.

"I agreed to go to a god damn funeral, not… not for you to play fucking _matchmaker_."

It was then that Dom realized what Marcus thought he was doing. Yes of course he'd known it was Anya's bar. But he hadn't had qualms about bringing Marcus there, she was actually the one who had suggested it, even if that had been years ago. Dom realized that there must be more to what happened between the two of them all those years ago than what Anya had divulged; and to get Marcus this pissed, whatever she omitted must have been pretty damn bad.

Dom tried desperately to backpedal, knowing that he'd far overstepped his bounds. "…Look. I'm sorry, man, I just thought—"

"No." The old bastard cut him off, his voice sharp as the knife he felt stabbing in his back. "You didn't."

With that, he continued walking at his swift pace, broad strides magnified by his long legs and oversized boots; Dom in no shape to keep up. The younger brother listened as the older's footsteps faded down the sidewalk, eventually disappearing into the night like they always did.

Dom closed his eyes, still leaning on his knees, feeling so ashamed. How could he have not seen it. How could he have not realized this would happen? How could he do this to his brother?

"God damnit!"He yelled, grabbing the back of his head with his hands and raking them over his scalp in frustration. He straightened up and let out a yell, punching the concrete wall to his right with all he could manage.

* * *

Quent sat there, stunned.

"What the _fuck _is his problem?" He was still staring at the seat where the old bastard had just been; the small pile of broken glass and the damp wood that he'd left behind.

"No one in the whole fuckin' world knows, kid." Baird remarked, downing the last of his mug like nothing had happened.

Anya, with her hand over her mouth, walked slowly towards the table. Cole met her halfway, still the hulking mass of muscle he used to be. By his movements, which were slower and more cautious, she thought perhaps age had not been as good to him as he let on.

"Sorry 'bout the mess, Anya baby," He said, still smiling, lumbering over to give her a crushing bear hug. "Me and Damon'll clean it up for ya."

"Like hell we will!" Baird refuted, but only to be met with a glare from his old friend. He sighed, and rolled his eyes.

"Ugh, fine, ya big softie. Quit lookin' at me like that."

Cole put Anya down to find her smiling slightly. How she'd missed these guys.

"How have you been, Gus?" She asked the man, who after all these years still dwarfed her in size.

"I been alright. Cole Train's still chuggin' baby, 'sall that matters." He nudged her elbow and gave her a big grin.

She walked over to her son, sitting next to him. He sat perplexed, and glanced over at his mother momentarily.

"Ma... what the fuck is going on here?"

She sighed, and looked away, pondering a response. He analyzed his mother's face as it hardened, her lips pressing together into a straight line accentuating the wrinkles around her mouth, her eyes squinting ever so slightly as they focused on something that wasn't quite there; her 'serious face' as he liked to call it. She wasn't exactly the most exuberant human being, but he knew that this seriousness was the closest she would ever come to expressing sadness. Whenever something hit home, he'd always remember her face forming into the mask he looked at now. He couldn't help but hate it, and the jackass that made her feel that way. Quent hadn't missed the intense stare the old bastard had fixed on his mother. His eyes were cold and calculating, such a piercing blue that all he saw in the stare was the force of it; for the life of him, the kid couldn't figure out what it meant. If anything, it was obviously something she didn't want to talk about.

Her eyes lingered on the spot the old man had been; glazed and lost in her own thoughts. _Was that water in her eyes?_

"Ma," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder, finishing the last of his own beer."You okay?"

She came back, breathing deeply, running a hand through her hair.

"I'll have to explain it all to you someday, dear." She said, giving him a strained smile, looking into his baby blues and touching his face.

He knew it was a sore subject and pursuing the reasons behind the stare would go nowhere, but he couldn't help but wonder sometimes about this woman and her past. The Anya Stroud he knew was different than the one that had been a First Lieutenant in the COG; Quent knew her as a loving mother, a quiet woman that was reserved and strong, always knowing the right thing to do. Of course she'd always get stuck reminiscing when her old war buddies showed up, and at that point the young lad had just been shooed away or put to bed. He'd heard a handful of the stories, however, and couldn't believe the Anya they were talking about was his dear old mum.

Stories like that happened most frequently whenever Dom stopped by. Quent admired the man like a father, and knew his mom and Dom had known each other since they were teenagers. Dom had taught him everything he knew: how to fight, how to fish, how to hunt, how to talk to women. Even so, he didn't know much about either of them before the All-Clear; there was no talk of families or children, no talk of relationships or late nights. His mom always laughed a lot when Dom was around, and it seemed like the two former soldiers had such a good history, so it made sense to little Quentin Stroud to ask his mother if she'd ever marry Dom. But despite the young boy's logic, she always laughed and simply said, "No."

He'd always wondered why she answered that way. Could this jackass Fenix be the answer as to why? It felt like his brain was inches from clicking, seconds from the light coming on, but try as he might he could not figure it out.

Baird wandered past the boy, soiled rag in hand, oblivious to the young man's internal monologue. Making his way around towards the bar, he observed the various trinkets that she and Quent had hung on the walls while Cole bent over to finish picking up the glass.

"So... this is your bar?" He asked Anya, fingering a bottle of whiskey.

She nodded to Baird. The resident cynic of Delta was essentially the same as he had been before; still constantly covered in grease, the same pair of goggles on his forehead, albeit he'd lost a ton of muscle mass. Now he was just a skinny little shit with an attitude, and Anya almost found it funny.

"Yes Baird." She vocalized, realizing he wouldn't have seen the nod, his attention focused on the whiskey in his hands. "It used to be one of Hoffman's supply depots before the All-Clear. After I was discharged, he gave me the place."

It was true. She had made this place what it was, a decade ago now. Quent and Dom, among others, had helped her install the second floor where they could live, as well as build the bar from scratch. Dom, bless his heart, had even supplied her with her first keg from the newest brewery on the coast. If there was one place in the world that was her own, this was it.

"Huh. Never thought of you as the enterprising type." Baird mused, finally pouring himself a glass.

Cole stood, and walked past him with the trash can full of glass. _"_All cleaned up baby," he said.

"The dumpster's out back, Cole. Just follow the hallway." She replied, and he nodded, walking past the bar and vanishing down the hallway she indicated.

She glanced over at her son, who still seemed to be struggling with himself. Sighing, she grabbed his hand and squeezing, giving him a slight smile. He ignored her, still enraptured in his thousand-yard stare, his jaw twitching. He was so much like his father.

Anya removed her hand when Cole walked back into the room, opting to warm it on her neck.

"You guys have met my son, haven't you?" She said, almost as an afterthought.

"Pfft, yeah. It's no wonder Santiago brought us here." Baird said with venom, grinning and raising his eyebrows to Anya, who retorted with a glare.

"What the hell is that supposed to even mean?" Quent said, observing the exchange and breaking his silence. "Seriously, is there something I need to fucking know?"

Anya had opened her mouth to diffuse his displeasure, but Baird got there first.

"Nah kid, nothin you _need_ to know, just stuff nobody wants you to."

In a split second, Quent had leapt up and reached across the table, grabbing the skinny blonde by the shirt cuff and pulling him down. Despite Damon's exponentially larger experience, Quent was a fully conditioned gear, and a stacked one at that. Their faces were inches away from each other when Quent started growling.

"You fucking _prick_, I'll-"

"Relax, relax kid. You fine. You fine." Cole cut in, patting him on the shoulder and pushing the kid back down in his chair, trying to diffuse the situation. Damon was being a dick, like always, and when Damon was being a dick Cole always did the best he could to keep everyone's tempers in check. He glared at his brother-in-arms over the kid's head, slowly shaking his head. Baird, who was now leaning with his back on the bar, facing them, just smiled.

"Hey guys," Dom poked his head in the door, causing everyone to turn and look. He nodded to the two former soldiers. "We should get going."

There was a tone in his voice that Anya understood. He'd tried to talk some sense into Marcus, he'd tried to help her patch things up with him. That was why Dom had brought Marcus here tonight, because in the years after she divorced the Major, when Quent was still young, she wished that Marcus hadn't left the way he did. She wished he could be here to see the boy. All those years ago she'd asked Dom to bring him here, if he ever managed to get the surly bastard into the city, and the man did exactly that. She couldn't fault him for it, as much pain as it caused.

"I'm sorry, Anya." He said to her, looking her straight in the eyes and conveying everything he needed to say but couldn't. In the low barlight, she could see the glint of tear streaks on his cheeks, and he was cradling his hand in a funny way as he leaned on the door. He'd punched something.

"Everything's alright Dom. Go get some sleep." She said, knowing.

Dom nodded to Quent, who was still a little worked up, but had calmed down enough to be concerned. He peered at the older man through eyes that were all-too-familiar.

"You guys have a place to stay, right?" The kid asked, directing it more towards Dom than the other two.

Cole nodded. "Yeah, we stayin at a hotel up the road. Right next to the square"

"Good." Anya said, standing up as Delta moved towards the door.

"Goodnight Anya baby." Cole said as they passed by, slipping past Dom into the salty night air. Baird half-assed a wave, and Dom gave a mock salute as he let the door shut behind them. Anya waved, and Quent returned the salute.

Anya sighed and sat down, looking at the son who looked so much like his father. For the billionth time, she wondered if she'd done the right thing.


	5. Ghostly Memories

Hey look. I'm alive. If you've read my story before, I suggest you go back and read it again. I rewrote the good majority of chapters 3 and 4 to make the story flow a little bit better.

Just played through the Gears 3 campaign, had to write something, so here you go. I'm back, but who knows for how long.

I do love you guys and all the compliments you give me. I don't deserve any of them, but thanks to everyone who reads. Sincerely. :)

- Meggie

* * *

**Chapter 5: Ghostly Memories, Part 1**

_The apartment was quiet. Sounds could be heard outside of celebration: there were loud pops of not bombs, but fireworks in the distance, and somewhere down the hall loud music was playing._

_He had just walked her back here from a night out with the boys; the last night they'd see Cole and Baird for a while. They were leaving early for one of Prescott's new settlements, one of the first in a step to reclaim the mainland for the human race. Bentin, they said it was called; about 20 miles inland from the New Jacinto coastline along one of the major rivers. It was almost unbelievable how far things had come in only a matter of months; just that night Cole had already been talking about new thrashball teams, as much as Baird was about settling down. He'd just become engaged to Samantha Byrne, a pretty young islander and capable soldier they'd met a few years back._

_He thought of marriage and subconsciously his icy blue eyes flicked to the young woman with her back to him, looking out the sliding glass door to her balcony and beyond, while he stood near the door. She was beautiful in her own right, her angular face accented nicely by the lamplight in the corner of the room, her soft turtleneck and slacks forming nicely around her hourglass shape, so different from the uniform he'd become so used to over the past 20 years. It seemed like forever since he'd seen her relax like this, and he found himself a little more loose than normal… but that could have just been the booze._

_Anya sighed, looking away from the window and down at the shoddy patchwork on the walls, Anya couldn't help but think that this apartment was more like a cut-rate motel, but that would have been in the heyday of the COG. Now, when most people had less than a box to live in, Hoffman gave her this, a palace all to herself. She was thankful, yes, but thought it unfair that even the distinguished soldiers of Delta had to share rooms. She thought of the brooding man sitting in the chair at her left, and wondered if he would ever take advantage of all the prestige and awards that they bestowed on him, but she already knew the answer. He wouldn't be Marcus if he did._

"_So," She said slowly, breaking the silence and leaning on the wall to her right, still looking out the window. "The war's over."_

_She heard movement behind her; the low, lumbering thuds of Marcus's footsteps behind her. There was a moment of silence as he took a moment to think, fiddling with something on her dresser._

"_So it is," He grumbled, still fiddling with something, as she could see from the glare of the lamplight in the window. "You buy into that shit Prescott's spouting?"_

_Without even looking, she could feel him giving her that peculiar, icy stare._

_She remained staring out the window, her eyes moving from the buildings across the street to the waxing moon above. "I believe it enough I guess," She said, looking to his right out the window for a moment. "I think Prescott has his reasons for declaring it this early… but really, what else to we have to believe?" She looked down at her feet, folding her arms. "But even then, I've seen the reports. Hundreds of thousands of scans have come back blank. There just simply aren't any more of them."_

_In the silence that followed, she looked over her shoulder to see where he was because she hadn't heard him moving around, only to be met with his enormous chest and arms standing inches behind her. She stifled a surprised 'Oh!'_

_A smirk crept on his face slowly as she took a deep breath to calm herself._

"_Just wondered what you were looking at." He said, his cold eyes peering out the window in the same manner she had been._

_She looked at him sidelong, smirking herself. The burly, beast of a man with hands shoved in the pockets of his favorite leather jacket, looked rather menacing if you included the icy stare and badass durag. Yet she knew him as a gentleman, and for a moment she flashed back to their younger years, when Marcus was younger and less tortured. When she herself was younger and less tortured._

_This war had taken so much out of the both of them. In silence they looked out the window, the world finally calm outside, and Anya thought to herself how nice it would be to snuggle up against that warm chest, to be held by those strong arms. They were notions she'd had almost her entire life, though she'd managed to suppress them largely due to the stress of the war and the intense pressure of being one of the last remaining ranking officers in the Comm. Center._

_But now that war was over. And although they were rebuilding, there really wasn't much for her to do anymore. She had passed thirty, and Marcus was sure to be approaching forty soon. How long would they continue to play this game? Maybe it was the alcohol from earlier, but her heart beat a little after at the thought of their lips finally meeting, her feelings finally being reciprocated. Then the floodgates had been broken, and all the feelings she'd managed to keep under wraps for so long came pouring out into the forefront of her mind, and she couldn't help herself as she leaned over, took his face between her hands, and kissed him._

_He stiffened immediately, hands emerging from his pockets and grasping her arms tightly as he pushed her away from him slowly._

_Her eyes fluttered open, her image of a perfect night shattered, and she felt like she was going crazy. His jaw muscles were twitching almost continuously; his glare was so intense she shied away from it._

"_I'm sorry," She blurted, understanding that she'd overstepped her boundaries. "I'm sorry Marcus I just thought maybe- I j-just thought- Oh hell I don't know what I was thinking, I'm sorry I'm so sorry…"_

_She wasn't looking at him anymore, she was looking at her feet, her mouth still spouting apologies, her face red with embarrassment, but his hands were still clasped around her biceps and she had nowhere to run. She just felt so utterly naked before him now, like he'd known everything she'd been thinking that she'd tried to keep for herself for so long, and now that he knew he didn't feel the same. She couldn't believe herself, and she felt tears creeping up behind her eyes until finally, he spoke._

"_Anya, shut up and look at me." His gravelly voice rolled into her ears, and she looked up at him, her chocolate brown eyes meeting his icy blue for what seemed like an eternity._

_He struggled with what to say next. "Do you… This is what you want." His jaw was twitching slower now, and he was blinking a little more than normal, waiting for her response._

"_Yes," she said quietly, looking away, and then back. "Longer than I can remember."_

"_Good."_

_Then, he grabbed her, one hand on her side and one on the back of her head, forcing her lips into his with such desperation and desire that Anya thought she might cry out from how wonderful it was, his chapped lips meeting her own soft ones rough and wanting, pulling her close to him with his strong arms. He moved both of his hands to grasp her rear, hiking her up so that she could wrap her legs around his waist as he walked her over to the bed, their mouths still entwined._

_Later, in the glow of early morning, he lay awake next to her, observing her as she slept. The heaviness in her breath, the small twitch in her fingers, the fact that she slept on her side, a pillow bunched underneath her head. She couldn't erase all his hurts, she couldn't erase all the horrible things he'd done and seen. Nobody could. Yet her presence made him feel human again._

* * *

**Chapter 5: Ghostly Memories, Part 2**

Drops of saltwater assaulted his aged face, bringing him back to reality. He blinked slightly, and looked up at the sea around him, not fully realizing where he was for a moment. He felt the rough, weathered concrete of the seawall underneath his hands, smelled the pungent salted water spraying about him as another wave slammed into the breaker a few hundred feet in front of him. He almost got lost in the rhythm, again; the cyclical motions of the waves hypnotized him, bringing back so many memories and feelings that he had managed to swallow and pack away for good.

Twenty-five years was a long time. Sitting there, alone with nothing but the breeze to keep him company, was the first time in a long time he felt vulnerable. His heart was still beating in his ears, his hands still clenched in anger, his jaw still twitching periodically. The hurt was still there, it was always there, like knives in his back and chest, pulsating constantly. There were some things he could never overcome; the anger, the unquenchable sense of betrayal, and most of all, the heartache. He hadn't been this way since the day he left this place, and it was a perfect explanation to why he hadn't wanted to come back.

Still, it stunned him how vivid his memories of her were after all these years. When they locked eyes in that dimly lit bar, he remembered her as she was that morning so long ago: her face flushed, her hair wild and unkempt, lying naked in his arms like he had always dreamed they would be one day. The war had been over. They could have finally had a life together. Slowly, all the feelings that he'd harbored and smothered and choked out of existence slowly revived themselves. In the midst of his jaded heart bloomed a slight compassion, and to his chagrin, it grew the more he thought of her beautiful face.

He massaged his temples, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees as his legs dangled over the seawall, his feet a small distance from the ground. A breeze blew from behind him, and he let out a sigh, feeling a familiar presence at his right. He was no longer alone.

"Tell me what to do this time, Carlos." He said to the brother seated at his right, his icy blue eyes gazing off into the distance, no expression on his face.

"I dunno bro. What do you want to do? She was always after you, man." Carlos replied, nonchalantly, mimicking Marcus' position.

Marcus huffed indecisively, and Carlos understood. A comfortable silence settled between them.

The older man glanced sidelong at his brother, who was looking down the coast. Carlos was so young, maybe not a day over 20, dressed in COG fatigues that had always been a little big for him. He had a slight smirk on his tanned face, his teeth so white they almost glowed. Marcus knew he enjoyed his view of the ocean. For some reason, Marcus found himself smiling a little bit as well.

Carlos leaned back, placing his hands in the soft grass, taking in a deep breath of the evening sea air.

"Man, I never get tired of the coast," he said in passing, laying all the way back into the grass and folding his arms behind his head.

Marcus turned his eyes back to the horizon. They had been the same age once, two kids with nothing better to do but enlist; neither of them had any idea what was coming down the pipe. It was incredible to think now how much he'd survived. Two wars and a near human extinction. What made him so special? What made Marcus Fenix the one to live, and millions of others to die in his place? Marcus became critically aware of the young man in his company. When he was Carlos's age, it was amazing how much they had taken for granted then. All the people they'd lost...

"You _know_ you don't want her to become one of them, man." Carlos peeked an eye open, turning his head to look at the old man's back, reading his thoughts. He heard the man grunt, and look away from him.

"All I'm sayin is, I think you two are long overdue for some good times. Give that some consideration, huh?"

There was a heavy pause. Marcus wouldn't have continued this conversation if he was talking to anyone other than Carlos.

"...You think so, huh." He grunted. He couldn't find the right words. By no means was this Marcus's comfort zone, especially with feelings he hadn't dealt with for forty-something years. Carlos was not deterred.

"Go talk to her or somethin'. You know where she lives, I'm sure she won't mind. She knows how you are." Carlos surmised, giving himself a slight chuckle.

Marcus didn't respond.

"And lay off Dom for a while." He continued, resuming his previous relaxed position. "You know he was just trying to help."

Another wave roared up to the breakers, only to be hushed upon impact, the water splintering into miniscule bits, carried on the air to Marcus's face. The breeze took to blowing from the rear once more, lazily, pregnant with the smells of freshly cut wood, a tinge of rubber, and cookers warming for a morning meal. Somewhere overhead, a seabird called out to its flock, eager to rejoin with them for pre-dawn fish. Moments passed. The planet spun.


End file.
